When the world fed
on pain,
and the pain wed
with feign,
vanity did a fair
bargain,
but my dark clouds did
not rain!
Brightest was he who
burned under the sun.
Richest was he who
landed in the tomorrow.
While my hopes bled
from a quill,
Their golden nibs rested
in the borough.
Laughter that turned
into silence,
And silence that rift
the bond.
It was friendship
that was born scorned,
But my love exponentially
grew fond.
Unfit was I, to be theirs
own.
Unfit were they, to
let me stay.
What we share is the
world we live.
And what we care is
our world we love.
I wish I were a
part,
I’m glad that I am
apart.
No comments:
Post a Comment